13 Fantasy poems

Someone once told me that animals are people under spells, and if you fall in love with them the spell will be lifted. I recently fell in love with a black trumpeter swan. I watched her ruffle her neck feathers for hours, watched her peck bugs from her breast. I was sure she would make a beautiful bride, but she was always a black trumpeter swan. I once brushed a horse’s hair for 3 straight years until it crumpled into death. The truth is there is no such thing as spells. The world is always as it is, and always as it seems. And love is just our own kind voice that we whisper into our own blood.

I have read somewhere that the birds of fairyland are white as snow.—W. B. Yeats Where all the trees bear golden flowers, And all the birds are white; Where fairy folk in dancing hours Burn stars for candlelight; Where every wind and leaf can talk, But no man understand Save one whose child-feet chanced to walk Green paths of fairyland; I followed two swift silver wings; I stalked a roving song; I startled shining, silent things; I wandered all day long. But when it seemed the shadowy hours Whispered of soft-foot night, I crept home to sweet common flowers, Brown birds, and candlelight.

In my head the dragon has been patient sitting on its mountain waiting for a story worth belonging to i'm still writing it